


Twist a Little Closer

by Doctor_Kya



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rewrite, Twist and Shout
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-25
Updated: 2014-02-25
Packaged: 2018-01-13 18:08:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1236076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doctor_Kya/pseuds/Doctor_Kya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean intends to leave, but Bobby has something to say about it. A Twist and Shout recovery fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twist a Little Closer

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Twist and Shout](https://archiveofourown.org/works/537876) by [gabriel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gabriel/pseuds/gabriel), [standbyme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/standbyme/pseuds/standbyme). 



> Twist and Shout made me so sad I had to stay up until two in the morning writing an alternate ending. This diverges from the original fic in Chapter 7. The original section beginning is included in italics.

_Dean woke up alone, and Cas had left for school. He pulled his duffel bag out of the bottom of the closet and began to shove his clothes into it, the motions mechanical and soothing. He liked it – packing things up, putting them away. The duffel was so tidy and when he zipped it up it was neat and evenly packed and had a familiar weight to it. The girl from before - Molly? - was in the hallway, and she waved to him; he waved back before stepping into the elevator._

_He took a cab to Bobby's garage, and he could see his bike around the side of building, looking as good as the day he left. The garage was closed, but Bobby's truck was parked outside, so Dean tried the handle, not surprised when he found it unlocked. The door to Bobby's office was open, and he walked inside. Bobby looked up, startled, his face brightening when he realized who it was._

_"Dean! Boy where the hell have you been? You look like shit…which is better than what I thought.”_

_"I came for my bike,” Dean said thickly, swaying a little to let loose some of his nervous energy._

_Bobby glanced at the bag thrown over his shoulder_  

“ _You goin’ somewhere?” he said slowly and Dean hardened his eyes. He wasn’t there to answer questions. He was just there to get his bike. He just wanted the bike, nothing else, and he could see Bobby gearing up to give him some kind of lecture_

_"Let me rephrase: are you leaving?"_

_Dean didn't say anything._

_"What about-"_

_"Please don't tell him,” he whimpered._

_Dean rubbed at his face, and Bobby stood, crossing the room to pull Dean against his chest. Dean cried against his shoulder, and Bobby gently rubbed his back before pulling away, holding him at arm's length._

_"You can't do this to him."_

_"I'm not good for him, Bobby," Dean croaked, swiping at his nose. "I'm hurting him, killing him. I swear I'm killing him."_

_"Dean, please-"_

_"You can't talk me out of it!" Dean pulled away, rubbing at his eyes with one hand and adjusting the bag over his shoulder with the other. "Where are the keys to my bike? I need to get out of here."_

Bobby didn't move. Dean held out his hand, but the keys did not appear to be forthcoming.

“Dammit, Bobby-”

“Don't you 'dammit, Bobby' me, boy.” Bobby's voice was low. “Don't you think I know? Don't you think I understand?”

Dean bristled, opening his mouth to retort that no, Bobby didn't understand, but Bobby was quicker.

“I've seen what war does to a man, Dean! I've seen it!” Dean jumped as Bobby's fist came down on the desk. “I used to see it in the damn mirror, boy, and it don't look a hell of a lot different to what I'm seeing in front of me right now.”

Dean gaped, his response lost.

“You think you're the first man to see awful things? To _do_ awful things? Y'ain't. Men come back from that hell, damn near most of them come apart. So you want to fall apart, Dean, you're allowed to fall apart. That's okay, ain't no-one gonna judge you for that. But I'm damned if I'm gonna let you walk outta here and ruin the one thing that might put you back together again.”

Dean drew a shaking breath. “Bobby, I- I can't. I can't keep hurting him like this.”

The response came as a snort.

“And you think leaving him is gonna hurt any less?”

“I- no, but I-”

While he struggled to find words for the ache in his throat, Bobby crossed the room and snapped the door shut.

“Sit,” he said. Dean, at a loss, did as he was told.

“Good.” Bobby returned to the desk and took the seat opposite him. “Now we're gonna figure this out, and you ain't gonna leave until we do.”

 

* * *

 

Cas returned home later in the evening, unsurprised by the silence of the apartment since it was mostly silent when he returned home. Either Dean was still in bed or he was out. He set his bag down by the floor with a heavy thud, the books weighing it down, and he rubbed the back of his neck, rolling his shoulders. He padded down the hallway and peered around the bedroom door. Dean was sitting on the bed, staring out the window. Cas felt a shimmer of gratitude for the fact that Dean had gotten as far as sitting up today, and by some blessing did not yet appear to be drunk. 

“Dean.”

Dean jumped, turning to look over his shoulder.

“Cas! Sorry, I-”

“It's okay.” Cas came to perch beside him, following his gaze out the window. “How are you feeling today?”

Dean drew a deep breath and blew it out through pursed lips.

“Bloody awful, Cas.”

Cas turned to look at him properly, running his eyes from the flattened mess of hair on Dean's head down to the hands clasped tightly in his lap. He almost moved on instinct to place a hand on Dean's arm when he noticed the tiny tremors running through it, but recent experience had taught him that such a move would only earn him a flinch and a cold withdrawal. Instead he spoke from a careful distance of eight inches.

“Bloody awful?”

“Bloody awful,” Dean repeated with a nod. The movement of his head drew Cas' attention back upward, and it was only then that he properly noticed the state of Dean's hair.

“Dean, your-” Dean's hair was not the birds-nest ruffle he usually had when he woke up. It looked more like helmet hair. Cas cast around the room, not yet certain enough to believe what he thought he was seeing, and there. There, in the corner of the room, was Dean's helmet.

“Dean. Your helmet.”

“Hm?”

“Your helmet's here. Dean, I thought Bobby had it?”

“He did.”

“He was keeping your bike for you.”

“He was.”

“Then what-”

“He's not any more.”

Cas turned back to look at Dean, still not quite understanding.

“I went and got my bike today, Cas.”

Cas shook his head. The words made sense, but they didn't fit. Dean never went further than the liquor store, and even then only for the promise of impending inebriation.

“I went and saw Bobby, and I got my bike, and...” Dean trailed off, so Cas made an effort to pull together enough words to make a sentence.

“Dean, that's- that's great! I- wow.”

He could feel a smile breaking across his face, wider than he'd thought he was capable of.

“Dean, I'm proud of you.”

Dean huffed a small laugh, and the sound warmed the inside of Cas' chest. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, well,” Dean scratched the back of his neck, then returned his hand to his lap. “You wouldn't be proud of me if you knew why I went there in the first place.”

Cas frowned, the warmth in his chest only slightly tempered by concern. He was still unused to hearing Dean string this many words together at once, and voluntarily too.

“Why did you go there then?”

“To- Cas, I-” Dean shifted uncomfortably, “I was going to get my bike. So I could- so I could leave.”

A gasp tore its way out of Cas' throat and he made an abortive movement to grab hold of Dean's arm. “Dean, no-”

“It's okay, it's okay!” Dean's hand came up to take Cas', and he stopped, looking down at Cas' pale fingers gripped in his as though unsure how they had got there. After a moment he let go and continued.

“I changed my mind. Or- Bobby changed my mind. I mean, we talked, and- and I realised I couldn't do it. Couldn't do that. Not to you.”

Cas became aware that he was shaking his head slowly back and forth.

“Dean, you wouldn't- you wouldn't really- were you really going to?”

Dean nodded sadly, avoiding Cas' eyes.

“I hate myself,” he gasped suddenly, “I hate myself, Cas. I can't help it, I can't do anything right, I can't even get out of bed and when I sleep all I see is you, and you're dead, or you're dying, or your skin's falling off while you're smiling and telling me it's fine, and I couldn't help but think that maybe if I weren't around, I could stop seeing your blood around me every second of the day, and you could stop crying at three in the morning when you think I'm asleep because all I do is _hurt you_ , and I don't want to hurt you any more because I _love you_ , Cas, I love you and it's all I know any more. It's all I know.”

His shoulders shook with the magnitude of his sobs, and as Cas threw his arms around Dean's neck he became aware that he was sobbing, too.

“Oh God, Dean, I love you, I love you, please-” he clung to Dean like a life ring, understanding with each heartbeat just how close he had come to losing him completely. “Please, Dean, don't go, don't go, don't do that.”

He felt Dean's head shake against his shoulder. “I won't, I'm not going to.”

“Good. Good, don't, please, don't ever-”

Cas stopped as Dean squeezed him so tight he thought his eyes were going to pop.

“Never, Cas.”

They stayed like that for a long minute, Dean clutching Cas to his chest and Cas sneaking shallow breaths for fear of pushing Dean away if he moved. Finally Dean relaxed his hold and shuffled further back onto the bed. Cas stayed at the edge, unsure of what to do next, and after a beat Dean ran his hands through his own hair.

“I'm tired, Cas. Been a long day.”

“Okay. Yeah, okay.” Cas started to get up, thinking he'd go read a book or something in the living room, but stopped when Dean held out his hands.

“Would you-?”

Cas waited only a fraction of a breath.

“Yes. Yes, absolutely, Dean.”

He slid under the covers, lifting them for Dean to follow, and gently, very gently, drew Dean to him. After a moment Dean sighed as he felt Cas begin to rub his back.

“I'm sorry, Cas,” he whispered, a stray tear flicking off his eyelashes as he blinked.

“No, shh. Don't. Just promise me you're not going anywhere.”

“I promise.”

Cas nodded once, mollified, and snuggled his head into Dean's shoulder as he let his eyes drift shut. It would be okay. They would make it okay.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hopefully that helped you feel a little bit less sad.
> 
> I took a bit of a character liberty here - I figured Bobby would be about the right age to have served in WWII.


End file.
